Forgive and Forget
by Clato79
Summary: When someone does something horribly irreversible, something incomprehensibly painful to you, you are often told to "forgive and forget". But what if you can't forgive /or/ forget? What are you supposed to do then? How do you move on? Who do you become? For Cato and Clove to survive life after the games, they must find answers.


When someone does something horribly irreversible, something incomprehensibly painful to you, you are often told to "forgive and forget". But what if you can't forgive /or/ forget? What are you supposed to do then? How do you move on? Who do you become?

Clove didn't know the answer to any of it, and no matter how much she screamed the questions at Cato, he didn't seem to have the answers either. But they were young, and this pain, if you could sum it up to that, was new. They had only been (half-way) living in the Victor's Village for a week, staying in the house that Cato was given due to his stubborn possessiveness. Surely with time they could move on, right? I mean, they have to move on. What other option is there?

When Clove's exhausted emerald eyes snapped awake before the sun had made its daily appearance, she wasn't surprised. Sleep was nearly impossible to claim, and she was grateful for even the most ephemeral moments of it. She was confused, however, at why she had woken up. She couldn't remember a nightmare plaguing her awake and it obviously wasn't the sun so what- and then she knows. As the crisp morning air sweeps across her skin, her attention is drawn to the unquestionably open window. It hadn't been left open just a crack, perhaps to cool them off in their nightmare induced sweaty sleep; it was /completely/ open. And Clove was terrified. She jerks herself out of Cato's arms, not caring a bit if she wakes him, and runs the short distance to the window before slamming and locking it. However, the closed window doesn't bring the feeling of safety that one might expect because she fears of what might have already made its way inside.

Cato inhales sharply at the loss of weight and warmth, and he swears that for half of a second his heart, after all it has been through, actually stops because he doesn't see that tangled mess of dark brown, she denies that it's black, hair on the pillow next to him.

"Clove!" He yells, his voice a mixture of fear for her and anger at her for leaving him and scaring him. If there is one person in the world capable of scaring him, it's her. Undeniably.

"Don't put this on me! You're the one who left the window open and who knows wha-" She has to stop and breathe because her voice cracked and she doesn't want to show any more vulnerability than she already has. All traces of anger leave Cato's eyes and are replaced with guilt and sorrow. His lips curve into the slightest frown, and he hates himself for scaring her, for not protecting her when that is what he swore he would do.

"You know I didn't mean to." He searches her eyes for some sign of forgiveness, her mouth for some sort of a smile. "You're fine. I'm fine. Nothing happened, and I'll never open a window again. Promise." He indirectly pleads his case as he props himself up on his elbows. When she does nothing but stare out of the now, thankfully, closed window, he sighs and leaves the psuedo-comfort of the bed and crosses the room slowly, to stand beside her. Comfort doesn't always come in the form of physical contact. Sometimes mere presence is enough to give one a sense of security.

"Okay." She whispers, her voice obviously unsteady. He won't press her on it though. He'll give her time to accept that this morning she is safe. It takes her a few silent minutes, but eventually her eyes leave the window and shift left and upwards to a pair of much lighter eyes. He gives her a soft smile that anyone else would probably read as a smirk and opens up his arms to her, letting her make the first step towards physical contact after having been frightened. It doesn't take her very long at all to take the step and close the distance between them, laying her head on his chest and snaking her arms around his waist. When you live your life in uncertainty, dare I say the unspeakable word- fear, you can't hold anger against the one piece of certainty and safety in your life for longer than a few moments. "I love you." She half whispers, half mumbles into his bare chest, well aware that he already knows.

"I love you too." He murmurs into the crown of her head before kissing the very spot. His palms flatten against the small of her back, feeling the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her tank top. It was these seemingly average moments shared between them that held the most love and intimacy that either one of them had ever been exposed to, and these very private, very vulnerable moments only took place in the walls of their house, their house that was not yet a home.

 _Thank you to everyone who read this! Obviously, I do not own these characters and all rights to them belong to the talented Suzanne Collins. Please review, and let me know if this is a story I should stick with. Thanks again!_


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